


Prozac, and Coffee Black

by CriedMore



Category: Asking Alexandria
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domestication, Drabble, F/M, Internal Monologue, Morning After, Mornings, Random & Short, Slice of Life, Song Lyrics, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14233653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CriedMore/pseuds/CriedMore
Summary: 'Prozac, and coffee black: it's breakfast time again...'





	Prozac, and Coffee Black

The sun felt like it was drilling a hole through my damn head: hitting me full in the face from where I'd forgotten to close the fucking curtains last night. I'd only gone out for one with the boys...but then there was a light snore from beside me, and I remembered where it had all gotten out of hand.

Goddamn woman.

She always had plans that seemed so good in the moment, and yet always ended up like us feeling like shit in the morning.

Turning onto my side, I squinted against the sunlight to take in her features: the face I loved so much, so sweet and innocent in sleep...because that was the only time she was ever innocent. When those eyes opened, I could see all the wildness in her head: the mischief, the insatiable curiosity, the darkness that she worked so hard to suppress. My perfect storm of a human being. Who needed her black coffee and painkillers if she was going to be in any shape to function at any point today.

So despite it feeling like there was a goddamn train inside my cranium, I hauled my ass out of bed and stretched: shuffling towards the kitchen. It was breakfast time again.

I pulled the paper crown off of my head _(where had I even...? And why...?)_ , carefully resting it over the corner of a picture of us smiling at the camera: and rubbed the remnants of out night out from my face as I pressed the ' _on_ ' button on the coffee maker. She joined me a second later, carefully resting a box of Advil on the counter as she passed me on her way to the sink. Not a word passed between us, neither of us wanting to talk just yet, as she downed a glass of water, before refilling it and passing it to me, while I debated whether not I was capable of making toast at the moment. I didn't think I was. 

She didn't mind - she just leaned into me, resting her head between my shoulder blades and wrapping her arms around my waist, while I reached back to hold her close to me. It wasn't comfortable, but without being able to talk to her right now, it was all I could do to say good morning. I didn't remember what went on last night: I just knew this morning we were all screwed up. Got crucified and were now stuck hoping to come back to life with caffeine and a pill.

Letting her go, I poured her coffee into her favourite mug: the sky blue one I'd painted ( _badly_ ) for her so many years ago, doctoring it with two sugars and no milk or creamer: handing it over with some Advil and one of the little green and white capsules from the orange bottle in the cupboard above the coffee maker.  
  
Prozac with painkillers and black coffee back: that was it for her - and I wasn't much different, downing the Advil with my own unsweetened black coffee, ignoring my younger self laughing at me from the back of my head: scorning over our new drugs of choice. The little shit.

Turning round fully, I pulled her into my arms: resting my cheek against the top of her head, enjoying the sensation of cool, silky hair under my un-shaved cheek, and the perfect feeling of having her here in my arms, after so many years of us dancing around each other. I'd been jonesing for her love since she'd first walked into the my life, in her prim button-down blouse and slacks...with killer stilettos on her feet, and an mouth that made me sound like a Catholic school boy.

Back then, I had lover her too much to let her love me. I'd never led her on, only ever being honest with her. She knew what a bastard I was, hearing all about my exploits from not only me, but also the other people at Sumerian Records who had to deal with the fallout of my actions...but she never gave up on me. She was stubborn as shit, and no matter what I'd done: she'd always been there. My best friend. She was the woman I'd cried myself to sleep over: left a band to get away from: screamed at the sky cursing her name when I still couldn't get her out of my head.

And now I was offering her coffee and her medication after we rolled out of bed together.

Her, the love of my life. The reason I got up in the morning: why I had reconnected with my other best friend and rejoined the band we'd built together: my motivation for always pushing myself to make, do, and be better in all the ways I could. I couldn't be happier...

...Maybe as soon as this shit kicked in.

**Author's Note:**

> _I self-indulgent nothing piece based on all the songs I've been listened to from Danny Worsnop's solo album, because...I could write this, and so I did. I hope everyone enjoyed it._


End file.
